


Nice isn’t the word I’d use

by struwwel



Series: Ohne Dich Universe [2]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Drunk confessions, Feeling B era, Flashbacks, Friendship, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25354852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/struwwel/pseuds/struwwel
Summary: «Richard Kruspe was a rockstar in Flakes mind, and in his opinion falling in love with those was a bit of a frivolous idea.»Flake contemplates Till’s drunk confession. MDBIAA setting.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Series: Ohne Dich Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837252
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	Nice isn’t the word I’d use

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first one of several deleted scenes from
> 
> [Mit Dir Bin Ich Auch Allein](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22852639/chapters/54620140)
> 
> —because I can already tell I just can’t let this story go. It’s essentially a prequel, so you don’t have to read it for it to make sense. 
> 
> My hand slipped a bit through this, so I decided to just puplish it as a one shot.

**Autumn 2003**

“How did _that_ happen?!”

Flake was a little shocked, there was no way of denying it.

“He j-just sn-snuck up on me.” 

Till was sniffling a lot, wiping snot away with his sleeve. He was at least walking straight again, which was a relief, honestly. Flake didn’t think he was a very good baby sitter for drunk people, mainly because if they needed to be held up, he was fully incapable of doing so. Then again, he was kind of _ok_ at holding people up mentally, and maybe that counted too - unless it was about love, which baffled him, so even if it _did_ count, it was fully useless right now. Somehow, love always ended up making people who didn’t deserve it sad, and drove even the most sensible folks to thoughtless actions - himself most of all.

They were on the way home, after a particularly miserable couple of hours at an equally miserable bar. Till had dragged him there for company, in an honestly foul mood, that over the course of an ungodly amount of vodka and lime had finally turned into outright catastrophic.

“I’m so in love, Flake, and it hurts so much. What if it will never go away,” was the last bit of coherent sentence Till managed - right before he desintegrated into a pitiful puddle of drunken tears and senseless babbling.

Flake decided to use the “you can’t really know that, maybe they are just shy or not in the right place yet, yada yada yada” sort of tactic he frequently saw other people use to give their heartbroken friends hope. He honestly thought most of that was probably untrue, but it did seem to work well enough, and half an hour later he had coaxed a name out of Till, and granted, things were a bit more complicated than he would have guessed.

Richard. _Of all people._

“That’s sneaky,” he said lamely, still clueless as to what he was to make of this new revelation. It was a bit of a riddle to him, how someone as loud and flashy could sneak up on anyone, but he figured Till knew what he was talking about, it was his heart after all.

“... hu, he was just so _niiiice_ ,” Till slurred, between hiccups. “Whe... When we were young. Y’know? ‘Member him?”

Flake was a but miffed that appearantly they were old enough now to say “when we were young”, but he did remember, although “ _nice_ ” probably was the last word he would have used.

When he’d first met him, Richard had been the streetsmart wildchild everybody seemed to want to be like. He had the best guitar sound, the most outrageous hair, the prettiest girls, and he wore modified, west made clothes as if they didn’t cost an arm and a leg -or were illegal to be worn.

Flake had felt incapable of speaking even a sentence to him. Loudmouthed, charismatic and brave to the point of stupidity, their introduction had been a grandiose entrance into the venue of a shared gig, where Richard, who only ever had been Scholle then, had waltzed into the hall with a black eye and a “if you don’t have a permit you really shouldn’t tell me anything, the firm has got shit on me.”

“Eh ... should you be telling us this?”someone had asked, after a round of stunned silence, which was a perfectly good question in Flake’s opinion.

“Obviously not, but I have all intentions on making myself as worthless to them as humanly possible,” young Scholle had said, grinning, and then had proceeded to nonchalantly disappear to who-knew-where, leaving his older band mates at a loss over if he’d show back up or not.

He _did_ show back up, two girls in tow he didn’t pay any attention too, complained loudly about some sound thing Flake had noone ever even seen care about before, and then set the stage on fire with the smiles he threw at the audience.

Then he dissappeared again, this time with his band, because, as it turned out, _they_ didn’t have a permit either and so it was best to disappear after the show - asap. Flake didn’t care. He was there with _his_ band, and _his_ friends, and some wanna be cool dude who needed to demonstrate how much more _against_ he was than everbody else didn’t really interest him.

He met him again at Till’s, at one of those parties where everybody seemed alot cooler, alot more travelled and alot more _in the know_ than them, and where him and Paul exchanged astonished glances over the fact these people thought they were stars.

Scholle was unimpressed, of course. He had been as pointedly careless and provocative as the first time, exchanging a few words with everyone, and always with just enough of a sting to rile up anyone who was in the mood to become riled up. He never seemed to stay for an actual conversation however, moving on before someone could really draw him into sharing his actual opinion on anything.

He _did_ talk to Till. Flake saw them the next morning, coming back from what seemed like a walk through the wintery landscape around Hohen Viecheln, faces red and serious. Till clapped his back, in the same sort of brusque care he used to clap Flake’s back, before they came back into the house and Scholle cheered up in shared laughter. Watching it made Flake feel like an intruder to the entire damn place. He only remembered it now, he thought, because they had looked like they were sharing secrets - and he had wonderd what kind of secrets kind, quiet Till and this annoying loudmouth could possibly have to share.

In the chaos that followed the fall of the Wall, he had seemed changed. Till, and the man who by then had turned into simply Zven, had been attached at the hip, intimidating twins with their competitive sport looks and mirrored poses. While everybody else was moving around in the outbreak of anarchy in those months after the turning with an air of lostness and naivety, those two had seemed a little grimmer. They looked a little more directed, a little more like they wanted something. There was a sense of dark wildness surrounding them, like the gangsters in those hollywood movies they all got to watch in abundance now, as if they lived by a code all of their own.

Flake was honest enough with himself to admit, that when Paul and Till roped him into the new band they were forming, part of the reason he stayed was that he wanted to be a little bit more like them. Thinking about it now, it had been a long time since he had seen them together that way, and the realisation suddenly made him horribly sad.

He hadn’t really understood what there was to want in this new world, but those two had seemed to know it perfectly. He had loved the air of purpose around those two’s rebellion, but where he liked Till with his mute kindness and Robin Hood style protectiveness, Richard’s complimemtary anger and drive had intimidated him.

Naturally suspicious of ambition, Flake didn’t appreciate the air of entitlement surrounding this guitarist, who watched the remaining east band’s shows with his arms crossed and criticism plainly written on his face. The fact he watched the american bands playing all over Berlin now with the same expression redeemed him only a little bit.

What redeemed him alot more over the years was his sincerity. Flake found out quickly, that if Richard held other people to preposterously high standards, he held himself to even higher ones.

Now, he had to admit that Richard’s way of asking for always more than he seemed to deserve had gotten them a lot further than any of them ever could have hoped for. Maybe you had to have a few delusions of grandeur to be able to accomplish that - and weirdly this person always ended up hitting close to the mark.

Richard Kruspe was a rockstar in Flakes mind, and in his opinion falling in love with those was a bit of a frivolous idea. Granted, not more than only ever falling in love with giraffe legged and busty blondes, but frivolous all the same, what with all the competition and the attitudes and the glitter that would only ever make your eyes water.

“He’s not really,” Till said as he told him so, suddenly sounding alot clearer and quite a bit defensive. “He’s just hurt and trying to get back everything the world took from him.”

Flake thought he took a good portion of interest too.

“... ‘s swe-sweet. O-once you get to know him be-better,” Till mumbled between hiccups - sadly into his collar.

Flake was about to ask how much better he was supposed to get to know the guy, but by then Till stumbled and planted himself headfirst into the dirt and started crying again, and Flake figured it was best to call a cab to help them get back home.

“Can’t tell him!” Till beseached him in the car, drooling on Flakes shoulder. “... never let me hu-hug him again.”

Flake didn’t really understand how one thing related to the other and really thought people had the right to know if someone loved them. _Richard_ especially, since it always seemed to really matter to him who did and who didn’t, but Till clearly didn’t want him to know. It seemed unfortunate, really.  


He figured he’d keep his mouth shut all the same. 


End file.
